


My Silver Tongue

by doctor243



Series: Infinity War Drabbles [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, Hurt, I'm Sorry, I'm sorry again, Iron Dad, Other, Panic Attacks, Party, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Teenager, Titan, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 07:19:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15480501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor243/pseuds/doctor243
Summary: Tony Stark is a man who knows his way around words. He can spin them around and weave them into sweaters like a modern day Shakespeare. But the one time his silver tongue failed him was the time it mattered the most.





	My Silver Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to send me prompts and follow me on tumblr @doctor243 !!!

Tony sat on the couch of his living room (well, technically the Avenger’s tower, but he owned it, so fuck them), facing the door. He’d specifically positioned himself to watch the one entrance to the common area, because he knew it was the most defensible position in the 600 sq foot space. And also because he knew that living with a teenage super hero meant that breaking curfew was bound to happen. And if such happenings occurred at 2 in the morning, said teenager was probably intoxicated.

He looked at his watch. _2.27am_.

“Boss, Mr Parker has just entered the premises.” Friday called out softly, knowing not to wake the entire building up.

 _About fucking time_. “Thank you Friday. Send him up please.” He took another sip of his scotch, savoring the intoxicating taste before swallowing and sighing heavily. _I’m not getting paid enough for this._ He thought absently. Soon enough, he heard the uneven squeaks of worn out sneakers heading in his direction, and a guilty (and a tiny bit queasy) face revealing itself.

“Good morning, Peter,” he said dryly. “You’re up early.”

“Mr Stark I-“

“Please,” Tony cut him off with a hand. “Have a seat.”

Reluctantly, the arachnid-inspired hero stumbled towards his mentor (or father, in better circumstances) before gingerly plopping onto the couch, facing Tony.

“What time is it, Peter?”

Peter looked around the room, trying to locate a clock, before Tony sighed.

“You’re wearing a watch, Peter.” The teen had the gall to giggle, before realizing his mistake and swiftly looking down at his wrist.

“Um… 2:30?” He slurred.

“Is that a question or an answer?”

“An…answer?” Tony raised an eyebrow. “An answer!”

He could tell that the kid was trying his best to concentrate, but coming back drunk (on a school night) was inexcusable.

“You know, I don’t have a problem with you going out to parties.” He started his mentally-rehearsed lecture. “God knows I've had my fair share. And I know you’re still a kid and it’s not a patrol night so you just wanna let loose.”

“Mr Stark, I-“

“Don’t interrupt me when I’m talking. You’re in trouble, so you listen, and i talk. That’s how this works.”

“I get it but-“

“No buts!” Tony growled, standing up and leaving the scotch at the coffee table. “It’s not just irresponsible to do this on a school night, but you didn’t even tell me where you were! Partying’s fine! But at least give me a head’s up on your location! You didn't take your suit _or_ your comms with you, and you debugged the tracker that we _both_ put in your phone. What if something had happened? What if someone needed you? May didn’t even-“

“Mr Stark!”

“WHAT!” Tony yelled as he whirled around, rage knitting his eyebrows together. But his eyes shot open as he took in the sight of his ward. Peter was sweating profusely, and even for a white schoolboy whose skin never saw the sunlight, his face was extremely pale.

“I…I don’t feel so good..” he wheezed out.

 _No_. Tony thought, rushing forward and catching Peter as he slipped off the couch. _No no no no no. Don’t say **that**_.

“Peter, talk to me,” he breathed, trying to control the tremble in his voice. Or the rapid pounding of his heart. Or the shake in his breath. “What doesn’t feel good?”

“I don’t..I don’t know what’s happen-I don’t know what’s happening!” Peter was crying by now, and Tony arms had never been tighter around another human being.

 _Tell me what’s wrong and we can fix this!_ He wants to yell. _**I** can fix this._ But all that comes out of his mouth is a agonized whisper of, “You’re alright. You’re alright.”

He can tell that Peter is getting lighter by the second, and he can feel the inevitability of the situation.

“Mr S’ark…” He looks at the boy (because he’s just that - a boy who was supposed to graduate the next year and bring his girl home and get married and have kids) and he sees the cracks forming on his cheeks, but he feels the same cracks digging into his heart.

“I don’t wanna go,” the tear-filled eyes beg him. “I don’t wanna go. Sir, please! I don’t wanna go!”

Tony opens his mouth, and wants to yell words of comfort and courage and tell Peter to hold on, but nothing comes out. He just shakes and shakes and doesn’t let go, even as the arms around his shoulders dissipate.

“..Mis’er S’ark..” His arms are tighter and tighter, even as he feels the erosion of the child in his arms. His child.

“…stark…”

“STARK!”

Tony’s head shoots up and he gasps for air, his heart beating like a war drum and his entire frame shaking like an earthquake. His face is wet with blood, tears and sweat but the discomfort barely registers.  _Nightmare_. His head whips around to find the blue bald alien, hand on his shoulder, concern etched subtly on her features. _Nebula_. He looks around and takes in the landscape. _Red_. He touches his cheeks. _Tears_. He looks down at his hands. _Ash_. And reality sat in.

The universe had finally ( _finally_ ) blessed him with a shining light that did not deserve to see the darkness that exists, and had torn that light away mercilessly. It had finally given him the taste of true, pure, unselfish happiness, but had ripped it away with a sneer. He wished he had said something to Peter. _You’re ok. Stop apologizing. I’ll fix this. I love you_. But in all his years as a genius playboy philanthropist, the one time his silver tongue failed him, was the time it mattered the most.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a prompt from @infintitelystark from tumblr that said "Imagine Tony having a panic attack after Infinity War. And he’s calling out for Pepper or anyone and he realizes that they’re all gone. He’s alone. He’s alone, still on the remains of Titan with no one around (sure there’s Nebula but he doesn’t know her), and the ashes of Peter, just the young boy he was a mentor, and a father to, on his hands."  
> ..  
> ...please don't hate me...


End file.
